Gentle Hands and a Warm Smile
by Jenelle Lucia
Summary: ophilia clement was never so cynical - in fact, she was everything but. / alphilia, chapter 1


_note_ : it's...been a while since i've posted here, hasn't it? a little warning for spoilers!

* * *

She was kind, gentle, sweet - all the more fair, never the more cynical. This, though, was a first for being cynical, Ophilia thinks, that she's tired, her feet ache, she eats very little from what she's used to from home, but even so, she continues to walk. She walks for Lianna, in the hopes that while she's there Father will have the motivation, if anything to get better. She walks for herself, too; this was just enough bravery to put out for a lifetime, after the Cave of Origins, she thinks.

If the cold of the Frostlands was considered nothing, then surely the mildly temperate weather of the Woodlands and the heat of the Cliftlands, then surely this journey wasn't going to be a problem in the slightest. Maps, though, are only photos and paths that are shown on maps are much more deceiving to the eye than initially intended to be. It does not scare her, though - as of late, it seems, nothing has but day and night she walks and she battles and she goes from town to town. She's a cleric from the Church of the Sacred Flame, she tells people who ask, and they can tell from the robes. It's always the same questions - what business have you in our town? And it's always the same answer, but Ophilia doesn't mind in the slightest.

(It's natural to be curious, after all.)

She finds herself in a tavern once more in Boulderfall - dinner, she supposes, with what she has available to pay will make do. And she could use a drink; she was never one to, but her travels allow for her to...try new things, in a sense. They're strong and they make her nose wrinkle and her throat burn - not to mention, make the barkeep laugh - but they're enough to take her mind off the pain that she feels throughout her entire body. Her limbs ache, and her arms and legs are littered with scratches and gashes from battles, only decently healed but not enough, and awkwardly bandaged, but dirtied and she has to change them.

"These bandages wouldn't hold well, I must warn you," the barkeep looks over from where he stands. He can tell from the bandages on her arms slowly loosening and there are wounds that are slightly closing put pressure on them, and the cleric gives him a sheepish smile.

"My magic can only do so much to heal me." And that was the truth of it; despite the instruction in younger years that she was given in making salves and elixirs that could heal so easily, in the end staves did more for her - thinking that, she gently hugged her staff closer to her before wincing. That wasn't the right move after all, she thinks, with her good hand - good arm, really - she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. The barkeep only watches with a sigh, and he digs for something behind the counter. She looks over the side, blinking, and he resurfaces with another roll of bandages and some more alcohol.

"Not for drinking," he gently places his hand onto the cork of the bottle. "I'm no apothecary, but those wounds look like they'd need disinfecting. Here." That might not have been the smartest idea, she admits, taking the bottle and the bandages without knowing exactly what it was going to do, but she figured that if it was going to disinfect it, she moves over to the table the barkeep directs her to from where she sits on the stool and she thanks him, then carefully hopping off and making her way to the empty table and sets to work.

Again, it's an awkward job decently done, and _oh,_ the alcohol smarts, but she's gritting her teeth and she's getting past the burning sensation. She's totally trying to get past the burning sensation, despite how badly it does and _oh, gods help her_ but it eventually stops the moment she starts tying the new bandages around the areas where the open wounds are - she deems them not too bad, nothing deep that requires major help, but she's getting there. She might have to see someone eventually for them, but this would do for now.

( _For now_ was just the key phrase.)

.

The blotted viper was...something else, and if there's something that she's sure of, it was the fact that they would never have to deal with it again. She looks over at her new companion - Alfyn - who goes over to the snake, and she watches as he extracts the venom ever so carefully. Looks are deceiving, she thinks, but she's nowhere in a place to judge, and to learn that he was an apothecary...surprised her quite a deal. She's seen apothecaries in Flamesgrace, most of them were women and he seemed intimidating in the slightest...but she'd come to learn that he had quite the big heart.

They're back in Clearbrook in no time, and it's nightfall. The venom's in Zeph's hands now and from what Alfyn had told her, he's "whipping something up that'll just do the trick!" and that Nina was going to be fine, thank the gods.

"That's wonderful to hear," she tells him - not as stiffly as their interactions had been earlier, but still just as some; this was only their first day as companions, after all, and if she had to admit it he was quite an unlikely one, but he was not unwelcome. In fact, he seemed like more than perfect company if she thought about it. It's also their first night together, and they're spending it at his home, _alone_ at that and this had to be the first time she spent on her own with a man other than those at the Church. "You have quite the gift."

"Aw, shucks. That's mighty kind of you to say, Miss Cleric!" and that somehow brings another smile to her face because when he says that, there's such warmth and she shrugs, the smile never fading. They'll be on first names eventually, without so much as the formalities later, but right now, the nickname is quite...endearing. And again, she thinks he says it with such warmth and that big smile on his face and she's sure that it radiates _something_ but she doesn't know what, but soon enough that smile twists into another expression - that of worry instead, and he's not looking at her face anymore.

"D'you mind if I get to lookin' at these?" he asks, and she blinks. What? Look at what? She's about to ask, but then she follows where he's cast his gaze and it clicks somehow. It's the dirtied bandages that she had gotten from the barkeep in Boulderfall during her short stay there, and he had given her that disinfectant alcohol and the new bandages. New bandages have gone in the same condition the first ones she had were, and well, she's seen what he was able to do and she nods. He comes over to her, and she tells him it's just her arms and legs and he nods. He carefully unwinds the bandages and he lets out a soft hiss through his teeth, inspecting the wounds and the gashes - just a little dirt around the edges, nothing too bad that he could take care of either, and he figures that her legs are in the same condition.

"They're cleaned out pretty darned well, I'll give ya that," he mutters softly, and there's some sort of gentleness in his voice and in his touch - despite the rugged feeling - as he inspects her wounds. "What'd you do to get all o' these?"

"I...may or may not have gotten into a couple...small fights?" another sheepish grin crosses her face and Alfyn chuckles softly, then letting go of her right leg after inspecting them. "Quite unlike me, would you say so?"

"Quite," he imitates her, and she takes no offense to it; instead she lets out a laugh, and so does he, and he gets up from where he's bending down in front of her to take his satchel from where it's sitting on the counter in the kitchen. "Now don'tcha go movin' a muscle, hear?" She giggles when he says so and she nods, and she goes back to sitting and waiting for him to whip something up, and it seems to be an exchange with himself of some sorts. He hums to himself here and there, little tunes that are not familiar to here but possibly might be to those here in Clearbrook, and as he adds ingredients he talks to himself - "A little bit o' this and oh, just a little bit o' that!"

(All of that, quite really, is as endearing as it gets, safe to say.)

They talk as he continues to prepare salves to patch her up - what life was like in the Church, _in Flamesgrace_ , for that matter, and they talk about Clearbrook. He's never left his little town - it's always been him there, especially after his mother passed and Ophilia thinks that it's a grim thought that they had that much in common. She asks him why he wanted to be an apothecary in the first place, and it surprises her when he becomes just a little bashful about it. It makes her smile, though, when he tells her the story of how there was someone who saved _him_ when a plague wrought upon Clearbrook. He worked every day to study and learn the tricks of the trade, and as she listens to him tell his story she finds him more and more...admirable. It wasn't as if he...well, _wasn't_ already.

"...And here we go," Alfyn's finally back at her side, salve in one hand and fresh bandages in another, and she sits up a little straighter. He laughs when she does, and he bends down on one knee in front of her. "You're lookin' pretty eager to have new bandages on you, aren'tcha?"

"These have seen better days, that much is true," Ophilia agrees, the smile never fading and she looks down at the salve in the small bottle in his hand. "Pray, that can't be for _all_ of my wounds, is it?"

"A little goes just a long way, y'know!" Silence is brought on them both again, with Alfyn every now and then explaining what he used to make the salve and the properties that they had on their own and together. His hands are gentle, working the salve into her wounds and her skin tingles and he works. He works meticulously, salve to the wound, then bandage to the wound, and repeat. He's on the last one, on her left arm and the minute he finishes up he slides his hands down her arm and gently takes her hand, squeezing it in his and giving her a big smile. His hands are warm, rugged, but warm and his grip is just as gentle and Ophilia can't help but to squeeze back - call it a gesture of gratitude, or something of fondness for this man she had already just met, but she does.

"There! All ya gotta do is just get some rest, don't strain yourself so much, and you'll be right as rain!" He lets go of her hand and she nods as he gestures for her to try flexing her arms and legs. When she does, her eyes brighten and she looks up at him with a big smile, and it's only but a moment but...she's exceptionally pretty that way. "Feelin' good?"

"I would like to say I'm going to be getting there. Thank you, Alfyn."

"'s no trouble at all! I'm always here to help!" The silence overtakes them again, and that's when he looks over at the outside, the stars in the sky illuminating and bouncing off the river just outside the house. "I've got a couple o' nightclothes I can lend to ya, if you don't mind that. And I'll take the daybed over here."

"Oh, no, I can -"

"Hospitality came a knockin', Miss Cleric! I'll be back in a jiff - don't go strainin' yourself while I'm out, hear?"

"...Hear," Ophilia responds with a smile. "Thank you, Alfyn."

"'m just doin' my job! Rest up, Miss Cleric."

Alfyn shuts the front door behind him, leaving Ophilia on her own to prepare for bed and rest up. It's been a long couple weeks, turning into a month, she thinks with all this walking and resting to get to Saintsbridge as her next stop on her pilgrimage, but cynicism, she thinks, from seeing things and doing things that might not have been necessary, can be replaced with warm hands and a gentle smile.

(And she sleeps, so that she's prepared to depart tomorrow - but with company, of course.)


End file.
